Down a familiar street

The temperature has dropped by half, after weeks of tepid autumn days, and we drive down a familiar street past trees and houses we've known for years. Since my recognition is no more than light spread cold on the surface of things, I remember a village, evenings in spring, twilight silence blossoming into sound. In the car it's warm; outside, the live oaks lean in the wind. Knowing I'm lost, I reach to touch your hand as you look up, surprised by this change in the weather.

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